


how to describe falling?

by nblw_shrike25



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Maybe - Freeform, One Shot, falling, lack of much dialogue, the romance is implied i swear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2019-06-03
Packaged: 2020-04-07 02:45:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19075888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nblw_shrike25/pseuds/nblw_shrike25
Summary: In which Crowley has trouble dealing with falling.





	how to describe falling?

How to describe falling? First, a sinking feeling in the chest, a burning, then the fall itself. The wings, oh, the wings, they crumble, slipping through Heaven and farther down, white feathers aflame with sickening popping and melting and molting, making way for what would come next. The rest of the changes feel like fire, melting away at the old flesh. For if a demon's skin were holy, they wouldn't really be a demon, would they?  
  
His tears were the last things to go, still holy in his last moment of falling, they burned his cheeks as he shook and sobbed on the ground. He looked to the sky for a hint of solace, for a comfort, and when he found nothing but empty sky, he cried out in agony, clutching at his clothes in a desperate attempt to calm himself.  
  
Hours went by, and he gathered what he had, that of which being only himself, and made his way into hell, empty now for all but anger. Years had passed, many years, and he was again under the stars, feeling wretched and allowing himself a brief moment alone to think and feel. This was a mistake. He shouldn't have come, he thought. Before he knew it he was crying again. This time, his eyes only burned due to irritation, his cheeks were merely stained, and not burned. It felt wrong. But behind him, a _whoosh_  of wings.  
  
"Crowley." He heard, and knew.  
  
He did not turn around, he couldn't. So he choked back his sobs and managed to laugh.  
  
"Aziraphale. It's a beautiful night, isn't it?" He coughed, whined.  
  
His angel pulled him close, holding him to his chest, and Crowley wept softly now. Aziraphale ran his hand along the demon's spine, whispering to him a comfort that he had longed for so long ago, and relief washed over him.  
  
"It's alright, Crowley. I'm here."  
  
And all was right.


End file.
